Nightmare
by Alexander Ryan
Summary: In which Italy has a nightmare involving a voice speaking to him... GerIta.


**A/N:** A short drabble I decided to write before sleeping one night, for my Italy roleplay blog fioredellaliberta.

* * *

Falling.

He was falling.

He could feel it. And yet… He was perfectly still. He was unmoving.

He felt as if he were floating, with no sense of direction. No distinction between 'up' and 'down'. He could not feel the ground beneath his feet.

His eyes slid open.

Darkness.

Darkness… everywhere.

And yet, it sent no chill down his spine. He almost felt numb. Unnoticing of the pitch black nothingness surrounding him.

A spark of curiosity filled him. He glanced around, surveying his surroundings. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing. He looked to himself, his palms upturned. He was naked, without even a sheet to cover himself. But he cared not.

_**Italy.**_

The voice echoed from within his mind, yet it seemed to be coming from an entirely different place altogether. His head jolted up and he looked around.

_"Who's there?"_

The words didn't even leave his lips. As soon as he merely thought them, the voice answered,

_You need not know my name. I am here to talk._

_"Talk? About what?"_

_You are sad, are you not?_

He glanced away. He was given no time to protest, his arms falling to his sides.

_I can feel it. I can see it._

He gave up searching for the mysterious voice, his head tilting skywards.

_You are lonely…_

It was almost comforting. And yet, at the same time, it was almost haunting. Taunting, in a sense. He swallowed, a smile forming on his lips.

_"Of course I'm not lonely! I have so many friends-!"_

_Friends?_ The voice interjected. It was everywhere and yet nowhere at once. _I do not see friends._

_"I-"_

_You cried yourself to sleep tonight, did you not._ It was a statement. Not a question. _That is what brought you here._

The numb feeling began to wear off. His face paled at the realization. His lips finally parted, his voice coming from him now. "How… How do you know that…?"

_Because I __**am**__ you. I am your deepest thoughts. The truth behind that… mask you wear._

He fell silent. He could feel himself trembling, ever so slightly. Warily, he glanced around.

_… __You are thinking about __**him**__._

He jolted.

_Tell me. How long has it been since you have seen him?_

He opened his mouth to answer. But to his surprise, his words fell short. … He could not remember the last time he had visited his old friend… He had given up the idea of visiting him, for each time he did, it would only end in arguments and anger.

_Tell me, dear one… when has he ever complimented you?_

He fought to find an answer through hazy memories.

_Tell me… When has he ever seen you cry?_

He knew the answer to this one. He opened his mouth, but alas, he was cut off.

_I do not mean your normal crying routine. I am speaking of your weaker state of mind, when your mental state is at its lowest. Have you ever trust him enough to see you in that kind of state?_

"Well… No… But-"

_You have pushed him away. And thus, he has left you._

His eyebrows furrowed. He stepped forward, his head shaking. "That's not true-!"

_But it is… You poor thing… Because of who you are. You are weak._

His breath hitched.

_You are a coward._

He shook his head.

_You are useless._

Tears began to form. "N-no…"

_You are unwanted._

He shook his head even more.

_Annoying. Stupid. Selfish. Weak._

He clapped his hands over his ears and shook his head furiously. "Stop it, _stop it!_" But the voice echoed in his mind, loud as ever.

_It is no wonder he has left you. He never truly cared for you in the first place._

His head snapped up. Eyes wide in fear and panic glanced all around. "No! That's not true-! Germany, he's- He's strong, he's kind, he's loyal-!"

_**AND HE LEFT YOU!**_

He jumped, taking a step back. Tears poured from his eyes.

_… __You poor, poor child… You are quite the oblivious little thing…_

He hung his head, his hands tightening into fists at his sides.

_Or could it be…_

He glanced up.

_… __you are in love with him._

His eyes widened, his lips parting.

_So it is true…_

He looked away, almost as though ashamed of himself. Ashamed that such a thing was so easily assumed.

_You poor thing… Even after everything he has done to you, after every single betrayal, after so many years of neglect and abandonment… You still hold such strong feelings for him. My… I truly do pity you…_

His lips formed a thin line as he drew in on himself. He wanted it to shut up already… But it just kept going…

_You were a fool to believe he could ever feel the same. But that is what you started to believe, is it not? … Or rather, it was. You thought he could love you._

He flinched.

_But who could ever love __**you**__. Look… He even left you. Now he only yells at you. He cannot stand the very sight of you. He cannot stand to have you in his house for even a day, thus arguing over even the smallest of topics._

He couldn't stop shaking. He coudln't stop crying. He felt so naked, so vulnerable… He hugged himself, pulling his shoulders up as his head hung lower. His legs, too, curled up toward his chest. Silently, he begged for the voice to stop.

_… __Look at you… You are such a coward. Not even fighting back… You wish for him to come save you now, but he will not come. He never does anymore. Nor will he ever…_

He covered his ears, his whole body shaking. "… Shut up…"

_Time to face the facts, deary…_

He shook his head. "No… No, no… Please, just… shut up…!"

**_Even your own brother cannot stand the sight of you._**

_**"I SAID SHUT UP!"**_ He let out a scream and he fell, his knees crashing to an invisible surface. The darkness shattered to light.

_Look up._

Hesitantly, he listened.

Widen amber eyes landed on a strong, sturdy back with broad shoulders, the form blurred by the light all around. The figure stood there silently, hands clenched at his sides.

Italy reached out his hand. The man's name left in a scream. No sound escaped.

His eyes snapped open to reveal a darkened room, the covers flying off him as he quickly sat up. Beads of sweat trailed down his skin. His breath escaped in laboured gasps. And, as he soon came to realize, his hand was outstretched, as if trying to grab something that wasn't there. It fell to the bed with a dull _thump_. He drew his knees, still covered by the sheets, to his chest, his arms wrapping around.

A dream.

It was all just a dream.

But as the tears filled his eyes and cascaded down his cheeks, his shoulders trembling, he knew. He knew it wasn't just a dream.

It was a metaphor.

It was the painful truth.

The cruel world he was forced to live in.

For Germany was gone.

And no matter what he tried, Italy could never pull him back to him.


End file.
